


Crash and Burn

by anatomical_heart



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Ariadne and Cobb, Musings About What Could Have Been, Oral Sex, Post-Film, Pseudo-BDSM Undertones, Rough Oral Sex, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatomical_heart/pseuds/anatomical_heart
Summary: It starts after the Fischer job.





	

It starts after the Fischer job. And, oddly, it starts after Arthur hears about Cobb. He couldn't say why. Why Eames, exactly, or why then.

There were other options, certainly. Ariadne, for example. That kiss - innocent, innocuous - held something he hadn't expected: Potential. For what, he still isn't sure. There are half-hearted, half-finished sketches inside his head of what that potential is or was or could be, if nurtured. Pursued. Even now, he tries to conjure those scenarios, exchanges he and Ariadne could be sharing in a matter of minutes... but there's no _fire_ there. Just the hint of a spark in a memory he might be embellishing in order to take himself off the hook he's hung himself on. After all, she wouldn't even _look_ at him after what happened to Cobb.

All that was left was Eames, for him. And considering their barbed history, he would (and could and does) do well. And _very_ well. 

He sighs and pours himself a drink. (He doesn't remember walking to the mini-bar inside the sparsely-furnished room; that's the point, isn't it?) Scotch. Rocks. Simple. Direct. Like him. And Eames, when the mood strikes him. When foreplay was everything before the first time, and every time after was filled with the urgency and _now now now_ Arthur feels when they're gasping and moaning and fumbling for their totems afterwards. 

(How many times have the words, _Is this real?_ trickled out from between bruised, bitten lips?)

It doesn't matter. Not how they got here, not when. What matters is now.

The hotel room door opens right on time; Eames knows better than to be late. He's all blasé button-ups and stunning attitude.

_Strike that, reverse it._

Arthur stalks over to him, slamming the door with a flat palm over Eames's shoulder. Mouths crash together - a fight more than a hello, or a hotly whispered fantasy that keeps Eames guessing; they passed coy long before they started.

"Get on your knees," he all but growls, fingers twisting in Eames's hair. 

He does; Arthur knows Eames loves it like this. And Eames says so. Several times over. Too many words. Unnecessary. Arthur doesn't need seducing. Or encouragement.

The buckle of his belt clinks almost demurely, which sets Eames smirking. 

"Open your mouth," Arthur demands in that quiet, controlled manner he used to have to force, but now comes naturally. 

Eames purses his lips in a way that makes the hair on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end. "No."

There it is. That _fire._

He yanks on the handful of Eames's hair he still has twisted around his fingers and murmurs, low in his throat, "I said... open your mouth."

Eames does, digging nails into Arthur's hips.

Arthur hisses. 

(There is no pain.)

He's hard and Eames takes him all the way down. Expertly.

Arthur fucks his mouth without restraint. Relishes the wet clucking noises at the back of Eames's throat with every thrust. Loses it, just a little, when he sees a few tears streak down Eames's stretched cheeks. 

His vision whites out with his eyes on the ceiling.


End file.
